


Scent

by Roadstergal



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Anal Sex, Animal Transformation, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, Gen, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 15:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/492913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The transition from Loque'eque to human is not straightforward.  Gapfiller post-ep for episode 3.03, "Extinction."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Without memory, there was only instinct.

When instinct was so strong, however, what need had he for memory?

He had to reach Urquat. He had only the faintest idea of what it was; the name brought up whiffs of memory, however, the feel of cool marble, warm sun - thoughts of _home_ and _friends_ and _belong_. He ached to find it. It tugged at him, gently, but not in any direction he could distinguish. He wanted to run, go this way and that to feel the tug grow stronger or weaker - it was the only way he could think of to find Urquat, that lovely place. But there was _that_ thing to consider. The thing that smelled rank, not like one of them. He wanted to kill it - it was distracting. But the big one seemed interested in it, and the big one was one of his kind. He had to stay with the big one. So they walked with it, painfully slowly.

Perhaps he would kill the big one.

As he was contemplating this, plodding, a sharp scent reached his sensitive nose, and he sniffed with delight. The scent spoke to him; it said _food_ and _good_ and _take_. It pulled him up the tree, leading him unerringly to the perfectly ripe fruits that dangled from a branch. Two of them - a treasure! His stomach grumbled in anticipation as he grabbed them and leapt to the ground. Food! Food - then Urquat.

But the big one took his food.

A very primal and deep-seated rage built up in him. He _would_ kill the big one. Then kill the strange thing, and lead the brood mare to Urquat!

The big one resisted, however, and he had to fight hard. He was thrown to the ground by the big one nonetheless, and the big one reinforced his victory with a blow to the back. The big one smelled very strongly, now, of _victory and_ _leader_ and _dominance_.

These scents spoke to him, as well. He had been wrong. The big one was correct in whatever it was doing. That big one must know things that he did not, and he had been wrong to doubt. The smell told him all.

Instinct once again came to his aid. He knew how to act with someone who smelled like the big one. He crawled on his hands and knees, broadcasting his submission in his own body language and scent.

The big one was pleased. The big one let him eat - two handfuls, no more, before taking the food back. It was his share. He showed his gratitude by grooming the big one.

The big one trilled his pleasure. Yes, this felt right. He would follow the big one.

* * *

Reed was ravenous. It had been two days of intense activity, after all, with nothing to eat but two handfuls of the wriggling larvae that lived in that rotting fruit. He quickly turned his mind to something, _anything_ else. The last thing he needed was to vomit up nothing but bile from his empty stomach.

His anatomy was the most obvious distraction. He still had traces of amphibian - gills that had not fully closed on the sides of his face, scales on his sides, a too-soft belly. Maybe he should go for a swim and see if those gills were functional... No, that would be a loony prospect even if they had something as ridiculous as a pool on a starship. This transitional state was just wrong. Maybe he could nap until he was fully human again. 

But he still could _smell_ , and he doubted he could sleep with the riot of scent that surrounded him. It was amazing - like a spectrum of colors that he had never known existed before. Phlox smelled kind and patient, a smell of _care_ and _concern_ , and every one of his creatures, despite being kept in almost too-meticulously clean cages, had a distinctive musky reek. He could even smell Hoshi's female tang, and she had left an hour ago.

Another scent assaulted him before he even heard Sickbay's doors open. Assaulted was the only word; it was a powerful scent, one that smelled like _alpha_ \- and now, god help him, like _captain_. He got to his feet slowly, trying to compose his face into something halfway impassive.

Archer spoke to him - something about him and Hoshi, something about sleep, something about taking the day off. Those were just words. They did not speak as loudly and powerfully as the smell of Archer - the smell of _dominant_ and _leader_. Reed's stomach plummeted to the area of his ankles as he realized something else - Archer was still half-Loque'eque. He could smell every bit as well as Reed - and Reed knew that he would be smelling of _submission_ and _want_ and _yield_.

Archer's hand on his arm was too close, too tight, too demanding, and Reed felt all too willing to submit. He broke the contact and hurried out of Sickbay, fighting that scent. God help him, he _wanted_ the promise of Archer's scent. What had happened to him? He longed for the days of Starfleet cadethood, being one of the young lions, being in charge and competent. This entire mission seemed to have been made to take him down and make him less. Lusting after another man? After his _captain_? He tried to convince himself that it had been only the alien who had enjoyed yielding to Archer, grooming him, being close. That it was only the alien that still remained in him that wanted this intimacy.

He almost managed to.

Once in his room, he shed his clothing and dropped it unceremoniously in a pile on the ground before stepping into the shower. He gave himself a blast of cold water from the showerhead and then shut it off, grabbing a handful of soap, lathering himself, scrubbing hard, trying to peel off the alien features that remained, as if his longings would go down the drain with them if he only _scrubbed hard enough_.


	2. Chapter 2

Archer was in a state that went so far beyond exhausted that he felt alert again. He knew this was a dangerous state for him to be in, but there would be time to rest once he settled all of the myriad loose ends from this incident with the Loque'eque virus. He had negotiated terms for the distribution the anti-virus, and had a peace pact and a few hundred liters of warp plasma to show for it. The last of the Loque'eque virus was safely stored in Phlox's cell bank. He had made sure that the crew who had volunteered to accompany Trip to rescue the away team had been screened and declared healthy by Phlox, and had received Archer's own personal thanks and commendations. T'pol was in a healing trance. He was leery of it, but Phlox assured him that the Vulcan healing trance was "highly effective," in his typical soothingly understated manner. Archer's only remaining concern, then, was for Sato and Reed.

It had been the kind of ordeal he never could have _imagined_ having to warn his crew about. He had gone off into the great beyond knowing that strange things lay in wait, and he had made that clear to the people who served with him. But this? Having your own body and mind altered by something so insidious, so undetectable? How could one reasonably warn one's crew about that? Or, he thought ruefully, keep them safe from it? He had been so certain he could handle anything the universe threw at him. He didn't know it would end up throwing strange mutant warriors, temporal cold wars, and mutagenic viruses. What else did it have up its sleeve?

He found he was walking towards Reed's quarters. As well he should, he decided; the man had seemed uncomfortable in Sickbay. He did not get along with Phlox as well as some of the other crew did; perhaps there was something he would be more comfortable discussing with Archer? Especially as Archer had been through the same ordeal. He could still taste the shame of it - the memories of being almost an animal...

The moment he entered Reed's room, which he did without buzzing and waiting for a reply, he smelled it. It rolled over him acutely, yet it was so familiar that he realized he had unconsciously followed the scent from Sickbay, his brain making up rationalizations for the mindless attraction. It was curiously compelling, but it had an undertone that was disturbing in its implications, like the too-sweet reek of treacle burnt to carbon - a scent of _acute want_ that was just too ill-defined. It was what he had smelled back on the planet, when he, as a Loque'eque, had asserted his dominance over the mutated Reed. But this smell was subtly different; it was not pure Loque'eque. It had a musky undertone that was distinctly Reed.

Archer discovered that he had walked into the shower while he had been mulling the scent, drawn like a fly to a pitcher plant. Reed looked up at him, startled - but Archer nonetheless had the feeling that Reed had sensed his arrival. Was it all part of this damned scent-language? Yes, yes - Reed was silent, but if he had been saying out loud, _please, I want you_ , Archer would not have heard more clearly. Reed's expression was uncertain and startled, but sight was not speaking to Archer. The scent of _want_ was, even though it was streaked with confusion. The feel of sudsy-slick skin under his fingers and the bitter tang of soap on his tongue barely penetrated his consciousness, overwhelemed as it was with the blended scent of _Reed_ and _desire_. He rode that wave of smell, rubbing the alien scales on Reed's side, licking the almost-shed gills on the side of his face, turning the man and pressing him up agaist the wall of the shower.

His fingers moved to press inside of the man who was saying _take me_ without words. Reed tensed, blocking him, and he growled and bit, hard. The metallic smell of blood added itself to the almost unbearably erotic mixture he was already inhaling, and Reed groaned and relaxed slightly. Archer pressed in his soap-slick fingers, stretching, as he buried his overly-sensitive nose into Reed's shoulder, eagerly sucking in the scent of startled lust.

The actual act of pulling out his fingers and slipping inside of Reed was one that Archer could not remember well when he tried to recall this event later. It was a dizzy jumble of slick soap and hot skin and cold tile, suffused with the intoxicating smell of willing submission and ecstasy. With such stimulation, coupled to his exhausted state, Archer came with embarrassing rapidity.

Somewhere between that extreme exhaustion and the exertion of this unexpected intercourse, he passed out. The world went grey before he hit the tiled floor.


	3. Chapter 3

Archer woke on a bed in Sickbay, feeling like he had slept for a month. For a moment, he merely lay there, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the luxury of thinking absolutely nothing. Memory, however, did not stay quiet for long, and Archer sat up with a groan as the events of the past two days came flooding back.

"Ah, Captain, you're back with us!" Phlox said cheerfully, putting down a rack of test tubes and trotting over.

"How long was I out?" Archer asked, rubbing his forehead. He looked down at himself and noted that he was in a clean uniform. He wondered if he had arrived at Sickbay in one. On the list of his concerns, however, that one was quite low.

"You've had a good eight hours of sleep, and it was long overdue," Phlox said, in his unaggressively chiding manner. "I did take the liberty of infusing you with some saline. You were quite severely dehydrated. I advise you to get a little food in you - something proteinacious and easily digested, like fully cooked fowl musculature - and take it easy for a day or two. You've had a long week."

"You can say that again, Doctor." Archer's reply was heartfelt. He took the Doctor's offered arm with gratitude as he rose to his feet.

A half-hour later, he was in his quarters, trying to eat a chicken thigh and rice with some semblance of manners, rather than rip it to pieces and inhale it. It helped, he decided, that he was back to normal - 'normal' now being a state were everything smelled hopelessly bland. It felt like a riotous orchestra had been abruptly stilled. It was peaceful, in some ways, but the silence was frighteningly profound. He took a deep breath and another bite.

He had stopped into the bridge on his way to his quarters. It had been a mercifully uneventful visit; Mayweather was overseeing a helmsman Archer did not recognize, and had greeted Archer cheerfully. Sato's and Reed's stations were unmanned, Archer had noted.

It was for the best that he had not run into Reed. He needed a little time to process recent events. Any one of them would tax his skills as a commander and a diplomat. Taken as a whole - good god, what had happened?

Archer had always believed that the most difficult matters should be dealt with before all others. That priority spot was quite clear, and he stabbed another piece of chicken as if he could impale the situation and fix it to the plate. He had to deal with the fact that he had made love to... no, that was not an accurate phrase. Fucked? Far too vile. Had sex with? As accurate as he was going to get. Yes, had sex with one of his crewmembers.

It would have been a delicate enough situation if it had been a standard worshipful-crewmember-with-a-fixation case. For legal reasons, Starfleet's official position on that was a resounding "No," and so the grey shades were a matter for quiet, off-the-record discussions with peers. When the crewmember in question was as psychologically interesting as Reed, Archer pondered, things got a little more difficult. When the sex came under such unusual circumstances, the resulting conundrum dwarfed the size of the Enterprise.

One very painful aspect of the conundrum prodded at Archer, and he forced himself to face it. He did not love Reed. Yes, he cared deeply for the man, respected him, felt close to him - but love him? In the way you really should love someone you screw in the shower?

Archer put his fork down, his appetite gone. This was something he needed to address immediately, much as he would love to put it off until, oh, the end of the damn mission. But the only alternative was to pretend that the event had never happened, and that was not fair to Reed. Or to himself, either; he needed a bond of trust with his senior officers, and he could not pretend that this had never happened and still look Reed in the eye.

Feeling twenty years older than he was, Archer stood. What he had to communicate in this aftermath - his clarifications, his apologies - was not something that could be conducted by a letter or a memo or PADD-message. It would unconscionable not to do this in person. Porthos, who had been eyeing the chicken with more than casual interest, got to his feet as well, his tail wagging enthusiastically. "Wait here," Archer told the dog. "I'm going to need you when I get back."

Yes, in the manner of its kind, the dog would give boundless and unconditional love, Archer pondered as he walked out; his uncomplicated devotion was something a Starfleet captain could never aspire to.


End file.
